Field Log #42
“We made a mistake. We thought we were looking at a new particle through the lens of the resonance tuner. It wasn't a particle. It was a fingertip.
Today, the entity leaned further into our laboratory. The visual distortion is maddening. The centre of the room now looks further away than the walls. I can see the back of my own head if I turn to the left fast enough.
Marcus tried to touch the perimeter field. His hand didn't burn; it just wasn't there anymore. When he pulled his arm back, his glove was turned completely inside out, but the seams were still perfectly intact. No cuts. No tears. Just inverted on a molecular level. He says he can still feel his fingers brushing against something warm, even though his sleeve ends in a stump of reversed fabric.
The tracking monitors are screeching. The graphs are drawing lines in three dimensions right off the paper, ripping through the air itself. We are leaving the equipment running. We must. If we cut the power to the stabilising rings, whatever is pressing against our space will snap through like a bowling ball on a bedsheet.
If anyone finds this, do not touch the cube on my desk. It is much heavier than it looks, and it isn't entirely here.”